The casting of crude millionaire Harry Brock is crucial to the success of this film simply because he dominates the story even when he isn't on screen. Choose the wrong actor and the whole thing will collapse because he is the origin of the story's conflict and therefore needs to be strong and bold. Luckily, the producers cast beefy John Goodman in the role and he managed to strike just the right combination of pent-up rage and apple-cheeked smiles. Although he's a Citizen Kane-type monster who slaps his girlfriend around and believes the offer of jewellery or money can soothe all ills, he also displays moments of genuine emotion that makes him quite likable at times. I guess the idea was to show how the nice guy he once was has been devoured by his hunger for money – hardly original, but nicely played by Goodman, anyway.
The story is essentially a wake-up call to the slumbering giant that is the American public masquerading as a romantic comedy. A book called Democracy in America – which was actually written in the 19th Century by a Frenchman named Tocqueville – plays a big part. By studying its concepts, Brock's moll Billy (Melanie Griffith) awakens to the fact that she is being duped by Harry, who represents the forces of rampant capitalism, and rises up against her oppressor. Whether the message is particularly relevant to its target audience is open to question, but perhaps its assumption that it won't really be taken too seriously allows the film to make its symbolism so literal that few will miss the parallels. For example when Ed Devery (Edward Hermann), Brock's right-hand man who clearly feels he has sold his soul ('I died twelve years ago,' he tells Brock after his employer shows concern for striking him in a rage) picks up a copy of the book it signals a reawakening of his conscience which is quickly quashed when Brock snatches it from his hand and throws it to the ground. Others, like the radio presenter, pay lip service to the concept without really understanding it. The way the message is couched in this straightforward simplicity raises the film higher than others of its type.
In a bland, thankless role that goes nowhere, Don Johnson wears horn-rimmed glasses and combs his hair forward to dispel memories of designer-clad cops. Even if he was anything more than a workmanlike actor he would struggle to do anything with the role. Griffith is likable enough, but her rapid transformation from bubble-headed blonde to hair-in-a-bun brain-box is so fast it fairly takes your breath away. One minute she's impatiently searching for something to watch during the dead time between the soaps and Entertainment Tonight and the next she's teaching a group of Senators the American constitution.
The film itself is entertaining enough; it certainly isn't as bad as you'd expect, and it's rating on this site is surprisingly low. But then, I suppose a lot of people watch this because they've seen (and liked) the original, which is a major hurdle for any film to overcome.
